


Strength

by Grinner_H



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	Strength

It _hurts._

The malodorous stench of blood clings to the air, like musk on a wet dog. 

He can taste it - crimson copper fluid beneath his tongue. 

His jaw - it aches something _godawful,_ as if his very flesh is being dug out of his skin with a metal spoon. He knows two of his teeth are missing. He's probably got more than a few broken ribs too, and his right arm - his _dominant_ arm - dangles uselessly out from its shoulder socket.

He's face-down in the dirt, and a part of Tsuna does _not_ want to get up.

Part of him thinks that accepting defeat may be a good idea - if he lies here just long enough, this pain would be over.

Maybe this is the part that's still a hapless thirteen-year-old; when the Mafia only existed in movies, when Vongola was just a kind of spaghetti dish, and _Reborn_ was something only Jesus could do. 

Maybe it's the part that's a jaded _capofamiglia_ whose once-untainted earth-brown eyes have seen too much death, too much sorrow.

Tsuna isn't quite sure which. 

But he's _tired._ He's so goddamn _tired_ and he just wants this to _end._

Inwardly, he _knows_ that Reborn would be gravely disappointed. His mouth would tighten into a severe line which speaks of nothing but displeasure. He'd chide Tsuna for being _a fucking pathetic runt_ \- eighteen years later and _always_ a runt, always a _child_ \- and kick him until he stood. 

Somewhere deep down, Tsuna desperately misses that. 

And _that_ hurts worse than all the broken bones in his battered body.

Over him, the enemy looms.

Tsuna can _feel_ it - that smug air of triumph radiating off his foe and washing over him like water over polished marble. 

And all Tsuna wants to do is _give up,_ because Reborn is _gone_ \- he's _dead,_ just like the father Tsuna never got to know, and the mother he never fully _understood._

Just like the Ninth and his loyal Guardians. Just like the Varia. The Cavallone and the Tomaso. 

And his _Family._

Tsuna keeps his eyes screwed shut, unable to _unsee_ Gokudera-kun on the ground beside him, neck broken at a grotesque angle. 

He can't stop thinking about Yamamoto - run through with the blade of his own sword, and how quickly the light died in his eyes. 

He thinks about how no one's heard a word from Hibari in eleven months - _no one knows where he is_ \- and tries _not_ to think about all the places and circumstances which may find him _dead._

Tsuna's lost too much - _too goddamn **much**_ \- and a part of him _wants_ to die, too.

But buried somewhere within those bleak thoughts and his agonizing world, there is laughter. There is, what appears to be, some infinitesimal sparkle of _hope._

And he thinks about Haru, with her militarylike bossiness and her unflagging support, her unrelenting cheeriness. 

And Chrome, iron resolution encompassed within her too-frail body.

He thinks about Lambo and I-Pin - children who grew too fast - and their courage in place of fear.

He remembers Bianchi - a _soldier,_ despite everything she's lost; unbending resilience amid heart-rending grief. 

Tsuna thinks about large brown irises and a winsome smile, of gentle hands and the worn omamori in his inner jacket pocket. 

His eyes open - glinting with murder and _will._

And he _stands._


End file.
